Marionette
by zz-berry
Summary: A boy, lurked into darkness by the prospect of keeping his family safe. A girl, trapped in the hands of that seemingly evil boy. Draco's intents on saving Narcissa blind him... And Hermione must choose between loyalty and humanity.


**Marionette **

**Chapter 1. **

**First things first, this is my very first fanfiction, aside from the little doodles I used to post on Tumblr and delete the next day. This story also grew from doodles – my Math teacher can be boring to the core. I have chapters of this thing everywhere and I know exactly how this is going to end... Enjoy! **

**Also. I will be posting some music recommendations. I cannot, of course, enforce it on you, but I highly recommend you listen to it while reading along the fic – it creates a rather good atmosphere. There is a reason dramatic movie scenes have background music ;).**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any of these characters. If I did, I would not be here. **

"My Lord, you called?"

"Draco, my boy, yes, yes. Have a seat."

Draco Malfoy slowly lowered himself on the edge of a wooden chair located directly across from Voldemort, doing his best to hide trembling fear that burned inside him. His insides were numb with a chilling sensation that, he knew for a fact, had nothing to do with two Dementors that were merely gliding through air just outside the room. This room, _his_ room, had served his family and ancestors as a dining room for Merlin knows how long. As a child, he had always known it to be a large, brightly lit room with a table that was constantly filled with delicious food, Dobby the House Elf fidgeting around it, doing his best to serve his masters well enough to remain unpunished. Now, however, the room was almost unrecognizable. The long, perfectly polished table that stood in the middle was thoroughly empty from everything but a couple of Charity Burbage's blood drops that were still present after her death six months ago; Voldemort had kept them as to remind his servants of what happens to blood traitors. The room was dimly lit, for the Dark Lord detested light. That gave a cold, unwelcome atmosphere. But, of course, that same atmosphere was almost constantly present in the Malfoy Manor, disappearing only during the rare times that he was allowed to spend time with his mother, Narcissa, the only woman in the world that he was confident he loved.

Draco had always feared Voldemort. Although, no. The exception were the times when he was an oblivious child, a reckless seven-year-old, brainwashed conclusively by his father about how there is no greater honour than to serve the Dark Lord. That was back when Draco used to daydream of becoming Voldemort's right hand, his literal best friend, the boy who the Dark Lord was nothing without. Years passed, and, in regards to Voldemort's body parts, Draco was still nothing but a pinkie toe on his left leg. And now, Draco's whole image of him was different. He dreaded Voldemort; there was no other word for it. He just happened to know all too well that Voldemort's summons were rarely a good omen. Just last week, he had called for Clara Parkinson, Pansy's mother. Two hours later, Pansy thrust herself into Draco's room, tears streaming down her chubby cheeks, proclaiming that her mother was executed. In spite of the fact that no Death Eater has ever seen Clara do any harm, she was obligated to serve as Nagini's dinner, and only Voldemort himself had seemed to see any reasoning behind such action.

Draco looked at the man sitting across from him – no, man was a wrong word... Across from him was a _creature_, its face drained of color, its nose missing and replaced by two narrow slits that served him as nostrils, its lipless mouth shut tightly. Its head was slightly tilted to the side, its red eyes fixated on Draco, as though drilling through his face. Silently praying, Draco lowered his glance to his lap, examining his nails with false interest. _Merlin help me... Merlin please put Voldemort in a good mood... _

"Draco..." Voldemort unexpectedly broke the heavy silence between them, "I infer that you are probably wondering why I have summoned you here tonight. I believe you deserve to know the truth. I have a task for you, Draco."

A momentary relief struck over Draco, yet an immediate wave of fear rapidly collapsed into all his senses. The last time he was 'honoured' with a task, death was a very narrow escape. Dumbledore was executed by Snape and not him, and that concluded the task semi-failed. Never before had he even estimated the immensity of pain that the Cruciatus curse can cause.

But it was Narcissa being cursed over and over, not him. Trapped in a small corner, eyes fixated on his mother, Draco was forced to watch her convulsions. Each scream stroke as though physical pain, each laugh of Voldemort's drugged his senses until everything before him grew black. Balancing between syncope and consciousness, Draco screamed so loud that Narcissa's own yelps became barely audible, and to this day, Voldemort laughs at his desperate begging for mercy, his suggestions to do anything but harm Narcissa. Right... where was Lucius on that day? Trapped on the other end of the room, that's where. Also watching his wife struggle, also desperately begging for mercy... Somehow, it was always Narcissa who ended up punished for the mistakes of her son and husband. Hatred drew on, narrowing the world down to just Draco and Voldemort, and the thought how easy it would be to _Avada _him...

But instead, Draco just spoke with his usual fake calmness.

"I am honoured, my Lord," somehow, the sentence nauseated him. Or was it imagination?

Voldemort gave something that would've resembled a laugh. "My dear boy, do not pretend you were successful last time... This time, Draco, you would not want your mother in pain, right?"

Flashback. Hatred. Darkness. The world is a narrow, narrow place.

"Of course not, my Lord,"

"Listen to me, dear boy, listen close. You know well that Hogwarts Express took all the children to the school two days ago, yourself being one of them... Well, I have summoned you here tonight to announce that you will not be spending much time on education, not this year."

What? Where was this going? Was he... was he being sent somewhere?

And Voldemort continued. "Miss Granger and Mister Potter have thought it wise to disobey my word and refrain from attending the school. Quite odd for our know-it-all, no?" Poor try at making a joke.

Suddenly, everything began to make sense.


End file.
